


Temporal Misdirection

by bob2ff



Series: Mutants AU [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Humor, M/M, Teikou Era, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob2ff/pseuds/bob2ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akashi goes back in time to correct Rakuzan's loss to Seirin.</p><p>Time Travel AU. Also part of my mutants AU so they all have mutant powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me because I could not resist writing time travel in an AU where time travel could actually exist. Also, Akashi is a fascinating character to explore. 
> 
> FYI I wrote this before I knew the story for the new X-Men movie (Days of Future's Past), but it's cool that they coincide! ;)

The idea first came to Akashi shortly after Rakuzan lost to Seirin. Akashi _couldn’t_ lose. Akashi _wouldn’t_ lose. So he searched out for a way, any way, to win at all costs. And he would do it on his own. His teammates couldn’t be counted on. Nobody could be counted on but Akashi himself.

The Akashi family was one with a multitude of resources at their disposal. It was a simple matter of using those resources strategically, pushing cash here, whispering into the ear of some influential person or other, and Akashi got the information he wanted. He found a time traveler.

Akashi already knew which point in time he wanted to return to. When you planned any kind of strategy, it was important to be precise every step of the way. He wanted to return to right before the Rakuzan match against Seirin. He could still picture it in his mind's eye: Kotarou, whining, jumping about, and thoroughly annoying a Reo who was busy stretching and practicing his shooting forms. Nebuya, activating and deactivating his power then and again, flexing his muscles.

The time traveler was an elementary school student. A twelve-year-old boy who harboured hopes of attending Teikou, ironically. A basketball aspirant. Akashi knew so many of those. He would be easy to manipulate. Akashi didn’t think he even needed his power to figure out how this boy’s mind worked. He didn’t think he would need to read his mind to get this boy to do what he wanted.

“You too, huh?” the boy peered at Akashi sullenly. His eyes were blank — he reminded Akashi a little of Chihiro. Akashi would have thought of Tetsuya, but then thinking of Tetsuya always gave a sharp, altogether unpleasant stab of pain in Akashi’s chest. He really needed to get that checked out — it would not do to develop a heart condition so young in his life. 

Also, Tetsuya’s eyes were supremely emotional, if one knew how to read them. Tetsuya was more tumultuous than his face belied. But Akashi had always known that about him.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean. Please clarify,” Akashi politely refrained from telling the boy to speak properly when addressing a senpai.

“Everybody has a point in time they want to return to, a fate they want to reverse. It’s obvious what you’re here for,” the boy continued, morosely. How presumptuous. And this boy had no manners whatsoever. He was not even looking at Akashi as he spoke, preferring instead to attempt to spin a basketball, failing every time.

Akashi grabbed the ball from him, spinning it smoothly in one hand. The boy’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Excellent,” Akashi said. “It saves me some time if you are well aware of the procedure.”

He spelled it out for the boy, slowly. “I want to return to late November last year, Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium.” The ball continued spinning in his hand — the boy was watching it, fascinated. “You are going to help me do it.”

He kept spinning the ball. To make his point, he flipped it from hand to hand. Its spin continued uninterrupted, whether on his left or his right finger. “Good middle schools are so hard to find, nowadays, don’t you think?” he said lightly, gently, softly. The boy’s blank eyes continued watching the ball. “And good basketball teams — even harder,” Akashi’s voice went even softer. Deadlier.

“It would be a pity if Teikou missed out on a promising player like yourself,” he gazed at the boy, imperiously.

The boy nodded, slowly. “Understood.” He sat straighter, and looked at Akashi straight in the eyes, for the first time since their meeting. “When you time travel, there are only three rules. Firstly, you are not allowed to tell anyone about where you come from.”

Akashi nodded. “Naturally,” he said. He was not an idiot. There was a good reason why he did not bring his teammates. Blabber mouths like Kotarou and loudmouths like Eikichi were hardly reliable.

“Secondly, you should understand that whatever you change in the past _will_ affect the future. So think very carefully before you change anything.” The ball spinned, Akashi didn’t deign to answer. This was why he had sought out the boy in the first place. Why was everyone around him so incompetent?

“Lastly, this is a one-way trip. Once you return, you _have_ to relive the past until this present time. There is no coming back here if you change your mind,” the boy continued staring at the ball spinning in Akashi’s hand. A basketball aspirant indeed — the boy was almost obsessed with it.

Akashi swept a lofty gaze at him. “Are you always this redundant? I sought you out because I am well aware of the risks, and I have factored them into my considerations. Let’s get on with this. Being prompt will be to your benefit, too. Teikou’s third string will be awaiting my call.” 

The boy peered at Akashi. For the first time since their meeting, there was a touch of fear, and a touch of uncertainty, in his demeanour. “Third string?” his voice wavered, unsure. Akashi inwardly scoffed. Yet another basketball aspirant who was trying to overreach where he belonged. Yet another one who thought he was better than what he actually deserved.

Akashi’s lip curled. “With your inferior skills, even third string would be a stretch. But my word will be enough to grant you into Teikou’s team.”

***

When Akashi opened his eyes and found himself at the steps of the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, he felt fully in control of himself. He walked purposefully into the gym, heading straight towards the locker room where he was certain the Rakuzan team would be awaiting him. He hoped Kotarou was not licking himself again, as he tended to do before tournaments, his cheetah side overriding his human side as he got into his competitor mindset.

Time travel, odd and mystical as it seemed, had been a surprisingly mundane experience. Akashi felt as though he had just gone to the bathroom and was heading back to the locker room. Except he was now the Akashi Seijurou who was two months younger. The Akashi Seijurou who would guarantee Rakuzan’s win, this time. The Akashi Seijurou who would not fail.

He blinked when he entered the locker room. It was completely empty. Had he pictured the exact time to travel to as slightly earlier, and the match was tomorrow, instead? That infuriating boy had been vague on the mechanics of how time travel actually worked. Akashi really was surrounded by incompetence.

Akashi called his driver to pick him up. He might as well go back home, and attempt to find out the exact time he had travelled back to. This was a simple matter of delaying his plan by a day.

When his limousine pulled up, Akashi’s mouth fell open, his composure disintegrating in the face of his reflection in the tinted black windows. Someone who was _distinctly not_ the Akashi Seijurou who was two months younger stared back at him.

Instead, a _fourteen-year-old_ Akashi Seijurou stared back at him. The white and blue Teikou uniform fourteen-year-old Akashi presently wore, instead of the mature brown of Rakuzan’s, was neatly pressed, tie immaculately knotted, presentable as he always was, even back then. 

However, most worryingly of all, his eyes were _both_ red. 

***

Akashi had borne the entire car ride home impressively calmly, if he could say so himself. He could very easily have lost control, and panicked. For one thing, the fact that he had only _one_ mutant ability, the telepathy, instead of the _two_ he had come to fondly rely on, was worrisome. It greatly limited his plans if he was limited to mind-reading alone, and had not as of yet awakened his _other_ power. 

The other thing was that because of those ridiculous rules, Akashi was currently a second-year at Teikou. He had to live through his middle school years yet again. Go through the ordeal of dealing with his exasperating teammates yet again. Make the oath with them yet again.

Akashi remained calm. The way he always did when playing shogi, he mapped out the steps in his mind. First thing was to awaken his second ability. Next, he had to ensure he would reach Rakuzan yet again. As for what he would do along the way, the objective was clear. Akashi intended to win.  

The driver just chatted on to young master Akashi happily, obliviously, as he planned.

***

An empty house, yet again. Akashi could still remember the years when it used to bother him, coming home to no greeting except from the servants. Sixteen-year-old Akashi knew, however, that it was _better_ when his father was not home. It was better when he did not have to come home to passive-aggressive statements about how basketball practice was taking valuable time away from other, more useful pursuits. 

Akashi’s phone buzzed. For the first time in years, Akashi saw the frivolous emoticon-filled messages Ryouta used to flood his phone with when he told everyone in the team another ‘fascinating story.’ This time, it was a five-page long text about how he had been approached by fangirls who had actually recognized him from the ‘Generation of Miracles’ feature in a magazine. Exclamation points almost outnumbered his assertion that they were all going to have fangirls now, “even Midorimachii~!!!!!!”.  

Akashi deleted the message. Now that he had a chance to do this all over again, he knew what to focus on, and what to hammer into his former (or rather, _current_ ) teammates’ minds. What _should_ be their priorities, and what they should remember. The fact that he was absolute, and not to be questioned, no matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

Fourteen-year-old Akashi’s morning routine before heading for Teikou was shockingly similar to sixteen-year-old Akashi’s routine before heading to Rakuzan. The only difference was that he was now at home, having to contend with his servants’ irritating tendency to do whatever they thought would be in young master Akashi’s best interest. 

For instance, they _insisted_ on the need for Akashi to ‘make plans’ with those ‘nice boys from the basketball club,’ for the weekend, even when Akashi would be _busy_ having to plan his strategy anew, now that he had to relive his middle school years again. And then there was their belief that Akashi secretly _longed_ and _wanted_ to talk to his father, so he should call him and discuss ‘their daily lives.’ All things Akashi did not want to deal with at the moment, because he couldn’t rely on anyone but himself to make things _right_ this time.

It was nice, however, in a way, being home. Akashi had not been able to help the slight quirk in his lips when he saw the tofu soup prepared as part of his breakfast. “Just the way you like it, Young Master Akashi,” the cook had smiled. Home-cooked tofu soup really _was_ better than Rakuzan’s cafeteria-prepared soup.

And there was Yukimaru. It was nice seeing him again. Akashi had not been able to see him all that much after moving to Kyoto. And he was getting old, too. The horse had been a much more reliable companion than any human Akashi had ever known. He had never disappointed him. 

Akashi’s phone dinged again. Yet another message, this time from Shintarou. “Akashi, eat some wakame with your breakfast today. Oha Asa has ranked Sagittarius worryingly low.”

Akashi deleted it with more viciousness than needed. Shintarou’s obsession with horoscopes really was ridiculous. Especially if it entailed him actually _suggesting_ Akashi eat wakame. Akashi would not eat wakame for anything, and _especially_ for not some preposterous superstition. He was absolute.

***

“Akashi, Akashi!” Aomine barrelled into Akashi, as he got out of his limousine in front of the school. 

This time, Akashi had not bothered telling the driver to drop him off in a distance. He really had been foolish, back then, trying to fit in. He might as well make it a point to his classmates that he was superior above them all. They would all realize it eventually, anyway. It was the simple truth.

“Whoa, nice car!” Aomine’s eyes went wide, momentarily distracted. Akashi sighed. “What is it, Daiki?”

“Well, you know—” Aomine was yet again distracted when he heard what Akashi had said. “Wait — _what_ did you call me?” he furrowed his eyebrows curiously.

“Daiki. Stop being distracted by insignificant details and tell me what you want,” Akashi resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was important to be calm and composed at all times, _especially_ now that he had to deal with the unexpected derailment of his plans due to botched time travel.

“Hey, Akashi, are you okay?” Aomine raised his eyebrows, and actually had the _nerve_ to place a hand on Akashi’s forehead. Akashi had forgotten how arduous it had been, dealing with fourteen-year-old Aomine Daiki, in the full bloom of his rowdiness and obnoxiousness. Before he had become sullen and closed off. What a nuisance.

Akashi very pointedly shoved Aomine’s hand off his forehead. “If you are not going to tell me what you want, I am going to class.”

Aomine zipped towards him. Akashi felt a little disoriented as he tried to continue walking and found Aomine suddenly in front of him, when he had been behind him a moment ago. It had been a while since he had borne the full brunt of Aomine’s powers. Although Aomine hadn’t fully awakened yet, it seemed — he was fast, but he wasn’t overwhelmingly so.

“Are we taking a break off practice today?” Aomine asked, hopefully. “B-ball Monthly just came out, we want to check it out at the convenience store. It’s just for half an hour, we’ll be right back to train after!” 

It was too hot to deal with Daiki’s antics. Akashi was starting to feel irritable already, the glow from having had tofu soup for breakfast evaporating in the face of May’s heat. It was starting to get muggy, and he was feeling slightly suffocated.   

“ _No_ , Daiki. Don’t you remember our school’s philosophy? Only the strongest survive. We are far from the strongest in the basketball league.” At least not just yet — but if all went according to Akashi’s plan, they _would_ be. “I expect to see you at practice today.”

He walked off. Aomine stared after him, in betrayal. “But, you said yesterday that you would let us off practice for a while…”

***

“Akashichii, Akashichii~!” Not again. Kise pranced in front of Akashi eagerly as Akashi attempted to enter his classroom.

Akashi was instantly on guard. With Ryouta’s powers, he had to be careful that he would not attempt to charm Akashi into doing what he wanted. Not that Ryouta was usually any match for Akashi, but the current Akashi was one ability short — it was best to be cautious.    

“I’ve already told Daiki, no breaks from practice today,” Akashi told him, flatly. “The same applies to you, Ryouta.” All before Kise could even say a word. With Ryouta, this really was the best way to deal with him. Shut him up before he could say anything else.

Kise blinked, some sparkles dissipating. “Oh…” he wilted, “But I wasn’t going to ask that, Akashichii! I wanted to tell you that I heard Haizaki is skipping practice today.” 

Ah. Akashi had forgotten that it was around this time when he had ousted Shogo from the team. This was a new consideration. Akashi would have to think about this, and factor it into his overarching strategy. 

“No one likes a snitch, Ryouta,” Akashi said, smoothly. “But this was useful for me to know. I will deal with this accordingly.”

Kise peered closer at Akashi. Akashi had to stifle the desire to edge away. His eyes were too big and _pretty_ , and they were in his face. But Akashi kept his composure, admirably so. “Akashichii, are you feeling alright?”

Not _again_. So before Kise could reach out a hand to touch him, Akashi smoothly added, “Ryouta, Daiki mentioned that he wanted to show you a new basketball move he has been practicing.”

People were so easy to manipulate when they depended on other people, Akashi thought as he watched Ryouta perk up excitedly, and run away wailing for Aominechii.

That was why he wouldn’t rely on anyone this time. He would do things alone.

***

“Akashi-kun, Akashi-kun!” Now it was Satsuki’s turn to bother Akashi. Akashi had forgotten what it was like to have teammates he had actually gotten along with, instead of them fearfully following his commands. Akashi had forgotten how absolutely tiresome it was, having people constantly hang around him.

With a hopeful flutter of her eyelashes, “Can you ask Tetsu-kun if he wants to plan the team bonding activities with me?” Momoi played with the ends of her hair shyly. “Aomine-kun and Ki-chan listen to him, so it would be easier to plan things with him there.”

Akashi’s heart gave another one of those painful jerks at the mention of Tetsuya. It looked like fourteen-year-old Akashi wasn’t exempt from the odd heart condition that afflicted sixteen-year-old Akashi. Not to mention Satsuki was just as wearying as ever, with her obsession over Tetsuya. And Daiki’s obsession with basketball, and Ryouta’s obsession with Daiki. They were prioritizing the wrong things, all of them. 

“Satsuki. Instead of worrying about Tetsuya, I suggest you focus on scouting our opponents for the upcoming Nationals. I expect to see exemplary data on them that will ensure our win.”

Momoi frowned, eyebrows furrowing prettily. She opened her mouth to ask probably the same inane question Daiki and Ryouta had both asked, but then she was cut off when a hand descended on Akashi’s head. Gently, but still. It was on Akashi’s _head_.

“Aka-chin.” Murasakibara’s drawl had a tinge of whine and petulance. “Mine-chin ate my umaibo yesterday. Tell him he can’t. Tell him it’s _mine_.”

Akashi very deliberately moved away so Murasakibara’s hand was no longer on his head. “Atsushi. Why are you letting inconsequential minutiae like this bother you? You should be focusing on the fact that your switching ability from defensive to offensive basketball maneuvers is still lacking.” 

Murasakibara blinked. “Aka-chin’s acting weird. Did you want some umaibo too? It’s Mine-chin’s fault I don’t have more to share with you.”

Akashi sighed. “Just help me get the schedules, please.” One of the biggest disadvantages about being fourteen years old again, Akashi felt, was his height.

He guessed his teammates could be useful in _some_ way, after all, as he watched Murasakibara use his stretching ability to get the schedules tucked far up in the shelves of the clubroom.

***

“You _don’t_ want to play shogi today?” Shintarou looked almost betrayed. But then again, this was Shintarou. He immediately masked the expression with one as nonchalant as possible, and looked away. “That’s fine — I was planning on putting extra shooting practice, anyway.” 

Akashi had forgotten that he had used to play shogi with other people. He forgot that he used to actually be _entertained_ playing with people far below his own abilities.

“That _would_ be a better use of your time, Shintarou. We should each cultivate our individual strengths to ensure Teikou’s win, instead of squandering our time with pointless endeavours.” Especially when Shintarou was no match for Akashi when it came to shogi.

Akashi saw rather than perceived Shintarou’s suspicion. His telepathy as a fourteen-year-old was still very much lacking. The limits he had systematically outgrew and trained over the next few years were as of now still all there — the lack of accuracy over reading people’s thoughts. His inability to sense people’s impulses properly. The pathetic fourteen-year-old Akashi’s powers lacked his precise control to predict, and thus manage, people’s perceptions of the world around them.

Right now, it was just limited to a very vague sensory awareness of what people were thinking. And even then, there was no guarantee of accuracy. It frustrated him. _This_ was why he had no time to plan for anything else. It was of utmost urgency that he developed his full mutant abilities before he was able to do anything else.

“Akashi,” Midorima’s eyes narrowed as he leaned closer to peer at Akashi’s face. “Are you al—”

“I need to deal with our upcoming training schedules,” Akashi cut him off, but allowed a small smile as he turned to leave. It wouldn’t do to worry Shintarou _too_ much by behaving too uncharacteristically.

At least for now, he would need to indulge his teammates’ silly need for him to be at least _pleasant_ when hanging around them.


	3. Chapter 3

_...Aomine is such an idiot, hasn’t he heard of the proper way to clean the board..._

_...Geez, Midorima is so annoying…. I wonder if he’ll notice if I swipe his lucky item —_  

_Oh, there Akashi is._

Akashi snapped out of his careful experimentation, his testing of his powers, trying to sense Daiki and Shintarou’s thoughts as he watched them from a distance, in their classroom fulfilling their cleaning duties. He had heard his name in the thoughts of a someone approaching him.

There was a rude tug in his chest as he looked upon Nijimura Shuuzou. He had not seen his senpai — he meant, Shuuzou — for years. Then again, it _wasn’t_ years anymore, was it? The current Akashi probably just saw him a few days ago.

“Hey, Akashi,” Nijimura frowned. “What’s this I hear about individualized practice for each of the starters?”

It was odd, seeing him again. Akashi felt the weird pull of admiration and respect that were the ghosts of his past, but mercifully his _rational_ side, the _right_ side, clamped down on that ruthlessly. It would not do to let sentiment cloud his judgement. Akashi was absolute.

Akashi looked levelly at him. “I am trying out some new training exercises. It is what I think is best for the team in my capacity as captain.” He had to remind his senpai — Shuuzou, he meant — of his current place. Where he currently belonged, as a substitute player on the bench. Akashi was absolute, and he did not need anyone questioning his decisions. 

Nijimura stiffened. “Yeah, I got it.” He clapped Akashi on the shoulder. Good — Akashi was glad _some_ people could understand, and act accordingly, to where they were meant to be.

Then, out of nowhere, he flicked Akashi in the forehead. “I may not be captain anymore, but you should still give your senpai some respect.” Akashi was frozen, eyes wide. He couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Anyway, I hope you know what you’re doing. You guys function best when you play together — take it as a simple observation from someone who’s watched you brats develop together for over a year,” Nijimura quirked the corner of his lips, then ruffled Akashi’s hair casually, without a thought to the conflicting feelings raging in Akashi. 

Fury. Then confusion. And indignance. “Thank you for your advice, Shuu—senpai,” Akashi caught himself before he could make anyone else suspicious. “But I know what I’m doing.”

He turned and walked away. He did not need, or want, to be reminded of a time when he would have lapped up all the guidance Nijimura gave. It took valuable mental capacity, and he had bigger plans to expend his energies in.

***

It was a week before he even saw Tetsuya. Akashi wondered why that was the case, then remembered that it was probably due to his emphasis on testing his teammates’ abilities individually.

Akashi was trying to speed up Teikou’s domination in the middle school basketball circuit. And to do that, he needed the Miracles to have arisen. He knew Daiki had been first to awaken the second stage of his mutant powers, but he wondered how that had happened.

“One-on-one, Akashi?” Aomine bounded excitedly in front of Akashi, holding a ball. Akashi had just shoved a wailing Kise (“But Aominechii is _my_ regular one-on-one partner!”) out of the gym.

“No, Daiki. I did not call for individual practice to play one-on-ones with each of you,” Akashi held Aomine’s gaze, strongly. “I am going test your powers, systematically.” 

Akashi was just beginning to feel exhausted, dealing with Daiki’s exuberance _and_ with him at full speed, when he felt, rather than saw, Tetsuya. His telepathy _did_ come in useful for times when an invisible player would sneak in to watch what was supposed to be individual practice. 

To Akashi’s power, Tetsuya’s presence felt as subtle and as almost-cold as a shadow. And, right on cue, there went the annoying, uncomfortable, jerk in his chest again. This time his stomach rolled over too. 

“Tetsuya,” Akashi said, putting a hand out and grabbing the ball from Daiki just as he zipped by. “This is a private practice.” Daiki ended up at the end of the court, blinking, an obtuse expression on his face as he wondered where the ball had suddenly gone.

“I apologize, Akashi-kun,” Kuroko materialized from where he sat by the side. Aomine dashed over to him in a second. 

“Tetsu’s lonely, Akashi! He missed hanging out with me after school,” Aomine slung an arm around him. “Isn’t that right, Tetsu?” 

“Please don’t become another Kise-kun, Aomine-kun,” Kuroko said primly as he shoved Aomine’s arm off. “I already have the original to deal with.”

Aomine made a disgusted face. “No way!” He bonked Kuroko on the head for the remark. Kuroko made a retaliatory jab in Aomine’s ribs.

Akashi sighed pointedly. They stopped and straightened, turning to look at him. “I hope you will both prioritize the main aim above all. Teikou’s victory.” One of the most tiresome things about being back at this time was that they always seemed to forget that fact. That above all, what mattered was winning, at all costs.

Aomine waved his hand dismissively at him. It took all of Akashi’s control to keep his face composed, and keep his eyebrow from twitching. “Stop worrying, Akashi.” 

He darted over to the doors. “Let’s continue our practice next week?” He called over to Kuroko. “Tetsu, race you to the convenience store! Loser buys winner popsicles!” He disappeared, fast.

Much more calmly, Kuroko approached Akashi. All alone with the person who had caused Akashi to come back in the first place, the person who had made Akashi _lose_ , Akashi could not help his heart thumping. It was thumping so hard and fast he wondered if Tetsuya could hear it.

The desire for revenge was malicious and sinister — it escaped rational control so easily. It seeped into Akashi’s heart, powering the quickening thrumming.  

Akashi wondered if he should do anything to Tetsuya _now_ , for what he was going to do to Akashi in the future. He wondered what would happen if he _did_ do something now. Rakuzan wouldn’t lose, for one thing. Because Seirin would not have Kuroko Tetsuya.

“I’m looking forward to our practice, Akashi-kun,” Kuroko peered straight into Akashi’s eyes. Akashi was reminded again of Tetsuya’s tendency to do that, to always be honest and sincere as possible in his interactions with others. How futile — people always let you down. Akashi knew that for a fact.

“Don’t disappoint me, Tetsuya,” Akashi swept a disdainful gaze over him. He turned and left Kuroko standing there.

It would not do to rush. It would not do to let emotions derail his plans. It was better to bide his time. To follow the steps of his plan accordingly.

***

 _That girl looks like she would be a good time. But her waist is a little thick. Damn, that one’s hot. But her chest is too frigging small. Maybe —_ and there, Akashi’s power sputtered out again. It really was vexing, having the pathetic telepathic power of a fourteen-year-old, with all its limits.

Akashi steepled his fingers and studied Haizaki from a distance, lounging by the bench outside Teikou, watching the girls as they walked home.

For the past two weeks, he had been considering, deciding, what to do with Shogo. His mutant abilities were...fascinating. Back then, Akashi had not found a use for them. But now, he wondered. He wondered if he could use Shogo’s ability to manipulate minds, his ability to confound, to confuse, for far more _practical_ purposes than just picking up girls.

Just as Haizaki had slung an arm around a giggling girl and had begun to use his ability, Akashi stepped in. “Shogo. I would like to request a private meeting with you.” 

The girl blinked and smiled sweetly at Akashi. Ever since he had started coming to school regularly with his limo in full public view, Akashi had gotten an upsurge in love letters. Not to mention every girl from his classmates to the managers giggled and touched him deliberately, leaning on him and following him around.

Girls were such nuisances, especially in middle school. Akashi had no time for them.

Haizaki stared down at him (his maddening height really bothered Akashi at times. He wondered if it was possible to hasten puberty.) “What do you want?” he jerked his head at Akashi, rudely.

Akashi just smiled slowly, composedly. “It is only for your benefit, I assure you. You would do well to come with me.”

Haizaki pushed himself off the girl disgruntledly. “You’re really cramping my style you know that?” He followed Akashi into an empty classroom. “You’re such a freaky weirdo. You think you’re all that, with your big words and stick up your ass attitude.” 

Akashi ignored his words, and closed the classroom door pointedly behind him. The sound echoed in the empty room.

“Shogo, you have become remarkably inconveniencing for the past few weeks.” Akashi watched his expression calmly, watching the rage rise on his face.

“If you had continued being this way, up until a few weeks ago, I would have replaced you with Ryouta.” Akashi stood with his back to the window, his face cast in darkness, his shadow stretched ahead of him, long and intimidating. “With just my word, you would have been rendered obsolete. Your future basketball career, expunged.” 

Haizaki snarled, and lunged at Akashi. _Bastard…_ Akashi read his thoughts clearly, Shogo’s punch sailing past his face as he dodged, smoothly.

Akashi felt Shogo reach into his mind with his power, a foreign, rough, unwelcome presence, attempting to confound him. _I’m going to get you, you bastard._ Akashi did not even blink. Shogo might think he was powerful, but Akashi was at a level far ahead of him. Akashi was absolute.

How tiresome, that Akashi would have to actually move. The same time that Akashi pushed Shogo’s mental reach away, he ducked under Shogo’s unwieldy kick and slammed a knee into his stomach.

Haizaki doubled over, coughing heavily. With one finger, Akashi pushed his head down. The rest of him followed as Haizaki landed heavily on his knees in front of him.

“Stop this futile endeavour, Shogo,” Akashi commanded. “Luckily for you and your basketball fate, I have seen the future.”

Haizaki’s heavy breathing abruptly stopped. He looked up, and stared at Akashi.

Akashi smiled, slowly. “Are you willing to listen now?” 


	4. Chapter 4

Even though Akashi was a careful and patient strategist, the next few weeks were agonizingly slow for him. Spending individual time with each of his teammates was remarkably tedious, above all because they _insisted_ on doing things like heading to the convenience store for popsicles, dragging him along.

“Since he has been spending so much time with us recently, Akashichii should also see what we normally do after school!” Kise chirped, amidst Aomine’s frantic gestures for him _not_ to invite Akashi.

Ryouta always had been the most optimistic of them all, with his efforts and hopes in cultivating a ‘loving’ team environment. He would sling an arm around Tetsuya, link his arm around Atsushi’s, and insist on frivolous, team-wide activities like _karaoke_. He was too excitable, fresh off just becoming a Teikou starting player. Fresh off finding a place he hoped to belong in. 

“It is not like you to participate such idle exercises like this, Akashi,” Shintarou was still infuriatingly suspicious. Akashi’s one-on-one training with him had begun with him demanding if there had been any problems with his performance.

“If you have discovered any problems, it is not my fault. Kise, Aomine and Murasakibara are the ones who are thoroughly disruptive during practice,” he said, arms crossed. Akashi had to reassure him multiple times that this was just for Akashi’s purposes of testing his powers within basketball, and not because of any defect in his basketball performance, before he would deign to practice.

Even then, Akashi had thoroughly forgotten what it had used to be like, when he had been Shintarou’s closest — what _had_ they been? Akashi could not call them _friends_ — Shintarou had been too stiff, Akashi had been too distanced, even back then — colleague.

Shintarou made his friends _work_ to understand him, parsing through his prickly comments and rigid demeanour. He would pretend it was a chore, having individual practice with Akashi, then show up to practice with packed bento and extra shiruko for Akashi, saying it “would be unwise to overwork ourselves without proper sustenance.” 

It was _exhausting_ , dealing with Shintarou’s contrasting demeanour, his punishingly strict standards on himself during practice. And Daiki’s constant rowdiness. Ryouta’s peppiness. Atsushi’s whining.       

Akashi’s tiresome teammates aside, however, his practice with Tetsuya got under his skin the most. He had forgotten how very _weak_ Tetsuya was. It made him furious, the constant reminder crawling under his skin, that he had lost to such an insipid opponent. Tetsuya could not even keep up with Teikou’s regular practice. And he had beaten Akashi. 

His invisibility was just as troublesome as always. Akashi had it better than most, being able to sense his mental presence. But he still exacerbated Akashi's bothersome heart condition.

Akashi would lean in and correct a passing form, tweak a passing route, based off a basketball hovering in thin air. Then he would stifle the desire to flinch back, as he felt Tetsuya’s breath, featherlight and gentle, on his lips. Akashi would have to work doubly harder to keep composed as Tetsuya would materialize, and Akashi realized how very _close_ he had been leaning into him.

Tetsuya, merely an inch shorter than Akashi, would peer at Akashi, eyes shining with gratitude, and friendship, and maybe something more. Breath puffing out slowly, like a caress on Akashi’s lips, as he stated, politely, “Thank you for the correction, Akashi-kun.”

And Akashi would have to work harder to even out the hammering in his chest, as he stepped back, and command Tetsuya to practice the invisible pass drill again. It was confusing, the mixture of hate, rage, frustration and maybe something _else_ that pounded in his chest whenever he encountered Tetsuya.

Then there was Haizaki. Akashi had no qualms about breaking any of the three ridiculous rules the time traveler had told him about. But Shogo was not worthy to know the truth. He did not deserve to know anything. He was too far below Akashi’s level.

But Akashi had told him enough for his own purposes. Shogo was now under the impression that Akashi could see the future. It had been too easy — just a few facts here and there that Haizaki would have _wanted_ to know (a future as an ace, some facts here and there about random girls obtained easily through telepathy), and Akashi had him fascinated. Intrigued by the possibilities inherent in working with Akashi, the benefits that lay for himself.

Haizaki believed that Akashi had long-term precognition to support his telepathy. There was no need for him to know what Akashi’s _true_ other ability was. It was as Sun Tzu decreed: _All warfare is based on deception._  

Shogo was too far below Akashi to be his ally. But he could be a useful tool.

***

“Can’t you just _see_ how they awaken it in the future, then replicate it?” Haizaki lazed on the floor beside where Akashi sat, stiff and straight, pondering the shogi board. The game was slow today, and he was not doing well against himself.

“Daiki awakens the second stage of mutant ability sometime around now,” Akashi said, irritably slamming a piece down. It was suffocatingly hot, and his shogi strategy still had an element of risk in it that was too high. “There is no need for any unnecessary replication — he will simply awaken it, and with the individual training we have been doing, become more unstoppable than he ever was before.”

Haizaki leaned up and peered at the shogi board. “This is friggin boring. And you’re being so slow-paced, too. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Akashi knew he did not mean his shogi strategy.

“Don’t get the impression that you are my accomplice, or even my equal,” Akashi commanded him imperiously. “You merely function as an insignificant part of my overall strategy. It is not your place to question my plans.”

Haizaki crashed back on the floor, and chugged a whole can of beer. He threw the empty can at Akashi, who caught it without looking. “Yeah, whatever. As long as I awaken the second stage of my powers too, and get what I want.”

Akashi crushed the empty can in his fist, slowly and deliberately. “Know where you belong. All you need to do is whatever I ask of you.” He dropped the can, so it landed at his feet.

*** 

“Daiki, Ryouta and Shintarou are up for the practice match,” Akashi tapped his clipboard impatiently, so Aomine and Kise stopped shoving each other playfully, and Midorima, caught in the fray, stopped snapping and elbowing at them in turn.

“You’re coming along too, Akashi?” Midorima was surprised. Yet another uncharacteristic move from him.

“I want to monitor your progress,” Akashi said, looking at each of them significantly. “I expect a full display of your abilities.” In basketball, and more, he did not say. It was understood. “Even if this is a practice match, I want you to do everything in your power to ensure a win.”

“Why is Haizaki coming along, Akashichii?” Kise asked. Akashi noticed the lack of characteristic bubbliness in his demeanour. How trivial and petty Ryouta and Shogo’s rivalry was. Akashi underestimated Shogo’s destructive effect on Ryouta’s ability to focus on his performance in basketball.

“Shogo is not a starting player anymore, but he is still a reserve player for you,” Akashi stated. 

Even without using his telepathy, it had been obvious how much Shogo had wanted to attack Akashi for taking him off the starting lineup. He had grabbed Akashi’s collar, and snarled in his face.“I am not going to be Kise f-king Ryouta’s backup! You and your fancy plans can screw yourselves. I quit.”

Akashi just gazed imperiously at him. Times like these he wished his eyes were still dichromatic. Still, his red eyes still gleamed meaningfully enough to make Haizaki let him go. “Be patient, Shogo. Eventually, you will get what you want." It was pathetic, his craving for acknowledgement, and recognition, so desperately that he would seek it from the shallow girls he chased so greedily. 

Then, to punish him, and to remind him about his place, Akashi said, "I will not tolerate this behaviour. Remember that I could use my knowledge of your abilities for a lot more than just for my own plans." Every mutant feared what Akashi implied he would do the most— the revelation of their powers. The prospect of being ostracized, or worst.

Haizaki’s hands were balled into fists, and trembling. He glared at Akashi with all the hatred Akashi expected of him, and more. " _I_ could ruin _you_. I could ruin you, and all your precious plans." 

Akashi just held his gaze, long enough until Haizaki blinked and looked away. Then he said, "I highly doubt that, Shogo. Even if you were to tell anyone, who do you think people would believe?" Akashi waved a hand, dismissive, open and relaxed. Haizaki's hands were clenched in desperation. The contrast between the scion of a wealthy, aristocratic family and the lowly delinquent who was constantly filled with rage and desperation.

"I will see you on the bench during the practice match. That is all," he turned and left.

If Akashi did not require his abilities, he would have dropped Shogo in a heartbeat. It was such a bother, how often Akashi had to remind him about who was absolute.

But Shogo’s abilities would be essential if the Miracles were to arise again. Shogo’s ability to confuse would be essential to any incompetence Akashi's former teammates would inevitably slip into.

***

"I am not allowed to play," Akashi snapped at Kise's earnest suggestion, as they stared at the scoreboard. Only halfway through the practice match, and they were ten points down. "You are aware of Teikou's policy, Ryouta," he gritted out, trying hard not to lose his composure. He would _not_ lose the first game he was present at since traveling back in time. He had come back to win, and he intended to do so. 

His teammates _were_ being incompetent, as Akashi fully expected they would be. They were holding back their powers, for whatever reason Akashi could not fathom. Sportsmanship or unfair advantage or something trivial like that.

"Why aren't you going faster, Daiki?" he snapped at Aomine. "You are fully capable of doing so." He had seen it himself, during their individualized training, after all. Aomine sat with a towel on his head, pondering.

"Do you really think I should, Akashi?" he asked, doubt tinging his voice. "Somehow it doesn't feel like basketball anymore, if I go faster..."

"You want to do everything in your power to ensure a win for Teikou, do you not?" Akashi forced evenness, calmness, into his voice, to project the certainty and sureness Daiki did not have. 

"Score more from the outside to close the gap," he commanded Midorima, and to Kise, "Try mimicking their center's rebound."

"Something wrong, _Seijurou_?" Haizaki smirked as he eyed Akashi. Akashi watched with satisfaction as Daiki, Shintarou and Ryouta headed out with the renewed determination of the Miracles in their eyes. A determination he knew would be present in all of them two years later. A determination that wasn't entirely human.

"Call me that again, Shogo, and you will be getting double the training you've already skipped," Akashi rested his chin on clasped hands and considered their opponents eyes, their spirits slowly, torturously extinguished as they watched Kise mimic flawlessly their center's defensive screen. Midorima's ruthlessly precise shots. And Aomine, who weaved around them like they didn't exist. Moving so fast, he was untouchable, along with his instinctual ripping of their defenses.

"Looks like you won't be needing me today," Haizaki lounged on the bench, and winked at the opposing team's manager. Cute girl — she would definitely prefer winners to losers like her own team. Akashi didn't deign to reply him.

Twenty minutes later, the entire gym went silent as they gazed at the scoreboard. Akashi looked at end products of the successful first steps of his plan with satisfaction. The opposing teams' hanging heads, with hopelessness. The hushed whispers that broke out.

" _Fifty_ points from _a single_ player."

"Is he even _human_?" 

" _Monster."_  

Daiki had done well.

***

In the locker room debriefing the team, Akashi felt he should at least give them a little acknowledgement for their efforts, even if they had initially stumbled with their incompetence, earlier.

"You all performed adequately, but—," Akashi began, but then he felt someone push past him roughly. He opened his mouth to chide, but then he saw the hooded eyes of Daiki, like he had done and seen something that had fundamentally hurt him to the core. Somehow, the words died in Akashi’s throat. 

Aomine slammed the locker room door as he left. Akashi let him go, then looked contemplatively upon Midorima and Kise. 

They had won the practice match. Teikou was beginning its domination of middle school basketball. Everything was as it should be.

Then why did none of them look happy?


	5. Chapter 5

“What is it, Tetsuya, Satsuki?” Akashi opened the clubroom door to Kuroko’s raised fist, ready to knock, and Momoi’s startled expression, mouth open. Kuroko’s sleeve was gripped in Momoi’s hand.

“Akashi-kun, could we discuss a particular concern with you?” Kuroko asked. It was ironic how his politeness was more difficult for Akashi to handle compared with Daiki’s rowdiness, or Atsushi’s petulance. It unsettled Akashi, and made him flustered, mostly because Tetsuya seemed almost as in control of himself as Akashi himself strived to be.

“Team training starts soon, but I can spare a few minutes,” Akashi let them in.

“Aomine-kun has mentioned that he doesn’t feel like attending practice again,” Kuroko said, tone measured and calm. But, again, Tetsuya’s eyes revealed his true emotions. Akashi could see concern written all over his face. Tetsuya still had a long way to go to learn how to function as a truly effective invisible sixth man. 

Momoi nodded, next to him. “I’m worried about Aomine-kun,” she said, distressed. “He hasn’t wanted to play basketball since that practice match a few weeks ago. Ki-chan says he hasn’t wanted to play their regular one-on-ones, either.” 

Hm. So it was beginning again, Daiki’s isolation from everyone, and the eventual breakdown of Teikou’s teamwork. Earlier than expected, but then of course Akashi had speeded up their awakening. 

How disappointing. Akashi had not even had the chance to carry out the next steps in his plan. With team training, Akashi had been considering different partnerships. Daiki and Tetsuya’s powers together had been amazingly unstoppable last time, but what about Daiki’s speed with Atsushi’s stretching ability? What about Shintarou’s precise strength with Tetsuya’s invisibility? The permutations were intriguing. 

Akashi had wanted to see how far he could take Teikou’s domination. Would he be able to break the hopes of all future high school players, he had wondered. Would Seirin even exist as how it would be if players like Hyuuga Junpei, Kiyoshi Teppei, had their basketball hopes entirely decimated through an even more overwhelming defeat by Teikou in the middle school circuit. It was tempting to see how much he could change the future. How far he could take his revenge. 

Of course, his teammates had disappointed him again, with their unreliability. Daiki really was pathetic. Shintarou and Ryouta too, with their sideways, anxious, uncertain looks at him ever since the practice match. His teammates infuriated him, the way they questioned his decisions. Akashi was absolute.

“Leave Daiki to me,” Akashi interrupted Momoi’s continued fretting. He turned his back towards them, an unspoken dismissal. Akashi needed to _think_. And having Tetsuya there, his presence constantly aggravating Akashi with the reminder of his future loss, would not help. He needed to think about how to approach this new conundrum.

He could leave everyone be. After all, in the original timeline, Teikou’s domination had still been assured. But then he would miss out on the delicious possibility of fully utilizing his teammates, at full power, in all the different combinations they allowed. Why did Daiki have to be so infuriatingly uncooperative?

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a shadow upon the shogi board he was contemplating.

“Tetsuya, I thought I had dismissed you,” Akashi looked sideways at Kuroko, condescendingly.

“I wondered if I could help, Akashi-kun,” Kuroko placed his hand near Akashi’s, on the board. All Akashi had to do was flex his hand, and their fingers would be touching. “Aomine-kun can be an idiot, so I hoped I could help with dealing with him.”

Akashi stayed silent. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, as it did every time he was in close proximity to Tetsuya. And now he was all alone with him.

“I’ve been so happy being part of the team, and working hard together with everyone,” Akashi could hear the forced calmness in Tetsuya’s voice, attempting to hide the eagerness, the earnestness in his words. The sincerity in them was clear, though. “I just want to do my part to help keep things this way.”

Akashi breathed out. He did not even realize he had been holding his breath. He lifted his hand, away from Tetsuya’s and placed a shogi piece, deliberately. It was the _fuhyo_ (pawn). A throwaway piece. A sacrificial piece.

“Do you play shogi, Tetsuya?” he asked, carefully keeping his voice pleasant, light. He contemplated the _fuhyo_ ’s current position, waiting for the answer.

“I know the rules, but I don’t think I would be a particularly good opponent for Akashi-kun.” 

Akashi smiled. “In shogi, the important thing to note is that every piece plays its part. The most important priority to keep in mind is the overarching strategy.” He picked up the _hisha_ (rook), and fingered it lovingly. 

“This piece is the next most valuable, after the _osho_ (king),” Akashi said. He placed it, directly in the line of fire. To be sacrificed, along with the _fuhyo_.

“But I don’t form any attachments to any of the pieces. Regardless of how valuable they might be.” He picked up the _osho_ piecewith one hand, and reached for Tetsuya’s hand with the other.

Tetsuya’s hand felt warm as Akashi overturned it, and placed the _osho_ deliberately in his palm. “The only important thing is to protect the king.” He closed Tetsuya’s fingers, wrapping them around the piece. “And to win.” 

Tetsuya’s hand was still clasped in his hand as Akashi looked up, and smiled, the kindness he intentionally projected feeling like an artificial plastic mask on his face. “I don’t think you would make a very good shogi player, Tetsuya.”

Tetsuya stared straight back into Akashi’s eyes, sincere and heartfelt. “I don’t suppose I would be, either, Akashi-kun.” His hand slipped out of Akashi’s as he placed the _osho_ back on the board, where it belonged. “I trust you, Akashi-kun. You are our captain. Please let me know if you need any help.”

Akashi continued smiling as he watched him leave. Tetsuya had decided Akashi’s next move for him.

Tetsuya always got emotionally attached to players in his team. His basketball philosophy was laughably based around the concept of a team as a family. 

Akashi would enjoy showcasing the futility of Tetsuya’s basketball, and watching his reaction. Revenge would be sweet, indeed.

***

“Minechin doesn’t go to practice,” Murasakibara tugged Akashi’s sleeve. “Why do _I_ still need individual practice, Akachin?” 

“Because your skills are still far below my satisfaction,” Akashi said, coldly, wrenching his sleeve away from Murasakibara. Individual training with Atsushi was frustrating in an entirely different way from Tetsuya’s — it was like babysitting a bratty toddler, albeit one nearly two metres tall and a mutant stretching ability to boot.

“But what about Minechin?” Murasakibara insisted. He still held a grudge from when Aomine had taken his umaibo. Akashi had never asked him to repay it, mainly because he had other, better things on his mind than settling the petty disputes of two brats on his team. 

“As long as he comes to tournaments and ensures our win, I have no interest in his progress,” Akashi sharpened his voice so it became even chillier, and more commanding. Atsushi would _not_ defy him this time. Akashi would awaken the next stage of Atsushi’s powers, but he would not allow him to challenge him. Akashi was absolute. 

“Shintarou, what do you want?” Akashi snapped as the door opened. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wondered if you know what you are doing.” Midorima crossed his arms by the door. “Aomine doesn’t attend practice anymore, and Kuroko is spending his days either puking at practice, or looking for Aomine. Kise follows Kuroko around, looking lost himself, and keeps fighting with Haizaki.”

“As I recall, you are vice-captain, not captain,” Akashi kept his fury carefully lidded, but his entire body was tense. Was it not Atsushi, but _Shintarou_ who would defy him this time? It was not like him to do so — the Shintarou he remembered, the Shintarou he knew, had always followed his leadership on faith. “Are you questioning my decision?”

 _You are not yourself_ , Akashi heard the constant, irritating suspicion in Shintarou’s thoughts. “On the contrary, Shintarou, I have always been like this,” he responded to the thought, smoothly. “I have just not seen the need to show this side with you until now.”

Midorima’s eyes widened. He stiffened, and opened his mouth. Just then, Murasakibara piped up. “Mido-chin, it’s better that we don’t have practice! Then we have time to buy snacks instead.”

“The national tournament is coming up soon,” Midorima finally stated, ignoring Murasakibara. “Are you sure we will do fine without team practice?”

Akashi approached him, and stared him down, even from his damnably shorter height. “As long as every one of you is prepared to do what it takes to win, we will be fine. Do you have time to be worrying about other players, Shintarou? As I recall, you still have your own training to attend to.”

While he focused on individualized practice with Atsushi, Akashi had prepared elaborate individual training plans for each of his teammates. He knew Daiki was probably ignoring all of it, but he also knew that in Daiki’s new awakened state, he would be fine, even without it. As for Shintarou and Ryouta, they would both awaken very soon, as long as they kept with their individual practice. If they did not, they were answerable to Akashi. He was absolute.

Midorima’s eyes narrowed as he approached Akashi, peering closer at his face. “I don’t know what you’re planning, Akashi. But I hope it works.”

Akashi held his gaze, strongly. “Remember Teikou’s victory, Shintarou. Nothing else matters.”

His teammates were all so unreliable. They were always focusing on the wrong things. Tetsuya, with his idealism and teamwork. Shintarou, with his constant suspicion and questioning of Akashi’s decisions. None of them understood the main aim. None of them understood that all that mattered was winning. 

***

“Hey, hey, shall we make things more interesting?” Kise sparkled as he bounced between Aomine and Kuroko. Aomine shoved him, moodily. “Shut up. It’s bad enough to have to travel to tournaments all cramped up in a van like this. Quit yelling in my face.” 

“Aominechii, you’ll like this! Let’s compete and see who can score the most individual points in a game!” Kise beamed.

Ah, Ryouta was being remarkably cooperative towards Akashi’s plans. Annoying as his bubbliness could be, at least Akashi had one teammate who was ensuring that everyone on the team performed to the best of their capabilities. As an individual. Teamplay was just a hindrance. 

Next to Akashi, Haizaki scoffed. “Bastard. As if you could even score enough points on your own. You’re pathetic.” Kise gritted his teeth and got up to attack him, but then Aomine groaned, loudly.

“I hate this. I just want to sleep. Let’s win this quick and then I can go back to looking at my photobooks.” He switched seats so he was far away from Kise and Kuroko, crossed his arms and closed his eyes. 

“Aomine, what kind of attitude is that coming into our first national tournament as starting regulars?” Midorima chided.

“Let’s do our best for the tournament, everyone,” Kuroko ventured, his voice slightly wavering even as he attempted to keep the team together.

Akashi watched them with equal amounts of dissatisfaction and complacence. Dissatisfaction, because yet again, they were focusing on the wrong things. Complacence, because he _knew_ he had trained them well enough. He knew that even with their thoroughly disappointing attitudes, they each had the individual ability to win. 

Teikou would dominate once again. And then all would be as it should be.

***

As soon as he got out of the other van with the substitute players and other third years, Nijimura called a meeting with Teikou’s regular lineup. Akashi eyed him suspiciously. He had been intentionally avoiding his senpai — Shuuzou, he meant — since coming back in time, because he felt confusingly guilty every time he saw him, as though he had let him down. But Akashi knew best. He knew more than Nijimura ever did. He should not be feeling this way.

Nijimura clapped Akashi on the shoulder, before turning to all of them. “I’ll be on the bench, supporting you guys,” he ruffled Midorima’s hair affectionately, making his glasses go askew. “I just wanted to assure you all to just ignore the fact that you’re playing in a competition.” 

Akashi was well aware of what he meant. He could already see that the pressure of being defending champions was starting to affect his teammates. Ryouta was jumpy, and even Daiki was not slouching, but tenser than usual. But the current Akashi had played for Rakuzan, basketball emperors. Defending champions for almost every national tournament, for years. He was well-used to being a winner. 

“Just play basketball, like you mean it,” Nijimura flicked them each all on the forehead. “And you’ll do fine.” Akashi stifled the urge to flinch as he touched him.

Somehow, he still felt uncomfortable showing his true self to Nijimura. He felt somewhat as though he did not want to smear his senpai’s perception of him. He felt that their relationship should always remain as how he remembered it, pristine and unbesmirched. There was no reason to make senpai — Shuuzou — suspicious of Akashi. He was not part of Akashi’s plans. Akashi would not use him — senpai had enough on his mind. 

He snapped out of his reverie as Aomine exhaled, loudly. “Is what we do really basketball?” he muttered, rubbing his forehead as he watched Nijimura leave. “It sure doesn’t feel like it. Not anymore.”

“That’s because it’s not, Daiki.” Akashi levelled a gaze at each of them, individually. Emphasising to all of them what he had come back in time to do. “What we do is more than basketball. What we do is win.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Akashi sat primly on the bench as his teammates crashed around him, during halftime. He leaned forward and rested his chin on steepled fingers, dwelling on their next move. He dimly registered the hushed whispers, overlapping with the thoughts of the audience, around him.

“Are they really middle school students?”

_...They don’t seem human..._

“What are they?”

_...Are they monsters..._

“Looks like you’re arousing suspicion,” Haizaki drawled as he approached and sat next to Akashi. “Need my help anytime soon?”

It really was laughable, Shogo’s constant need to be wanted, to be used. “When I need your help, I will ask for it, Shogo,” Akashi didn’t bother looking at him. “Now leave me alone.”

He heard Shogo curse at him in his thoughts, but he did not say anything out loud.

“Daiki, tone down in your speed a bit,” Akashi commanded. “You’re being too obvious. Do you want everyone to know what we are?”

Aomine jerked up from where he had been lounging on the bench. “You’re the one who has been asking me to go faster and faster!” He glared at Akashi, anger and wrath all over his gritted teeth, and clenched fists. “I’ve scored 40 points on my own, and it’s only halftime! What else do you want?”

Akashi gazed down at him, coldly. “I want you to ensure our win without being an idiot. Evidently, I overestimated you.” He swept a gaze to Kuroko. “Tetsuya, you will take Daiki’s place next quarter. He will stay on the bench until he learns to be less foolish and reckless.”

Aomine leapt up suddenly from the bench, rounding on Akashi. Akashi stared calmly at him, red eyes gleaming. Was Daiki going to be the one to defy him, instead? But Aomine just turned, and stomped off.

Akashi relaxed, a little. He felt Tetsuya tap him tentatively on the shoulder, and he tensed up again. “Should I go after him, Akashi-kun?”

Akashi swept past him. “No. Should you be worrying about others, when your own skills are lacking? Focus on ensuring our win.”

***

Daiki still had not returned. Akashi’s fists clenched involuntarily as he called for a timeout. They were about to begin the last quarter, and while Tetsuya had performed satisfactorily as Akashi knew he would (he had trained him himself, after all), they needed Daiki to actually obliterate their opponent.

The offensive power of Ryouta and Shintarou were impressive on its own, and Atsushi could always be counted on, but they still had not fully awakened the second stage of their power. Akashi needed Daiki to completely decimate the spirits of their opponents. He needed Daiki to be the one to ensure Teikou’s untouchable domination at the top, the way he remembered Daiki had done the last time.

“Want me to go on, instead?” Haizaki smirked as he watched Akashi tap his foot impatiently, waiting for Kise to return from trying to finding Aomine.

“Only for two minutes.” Akashi’s tone was clipped. “Don’t be reckless with your power. If I see you even be slightly too obvious, you’re going on the bench again.” That was the biggest reason why he was always reluctant to use Shogo. He was too unwieldy, too unpredictable.

“Calm down, bastard,” Shogo had the nerve to clap Akashi on the back. “I’ll ensure Teikou’s win.”

***  
“Teikou’s captain, I’d like to speak with you,” the referee announced.

With only five minutes to go until the end of the match, Teikou was already at an overwhelming lead. What more was there to talk about? Akashi approached him, refusing to feel unsettled.

Akashi’s pathetic, limited telepathy had long ago sputtered out. All he had was vague perceptions of others, but he could already sense the overwhelming suspicion radiating from the referee.

“I want you to answer my question as honestly as possible,” the referee gazed at Akashi, straight in the eyes. “Remember that your entire team can be subject to substantial medical tests at any point during the tournament. Are any of you taking performance-enhancing drugs?”

Akashi refused to panic. He stood there, calculating quickly, wondering if he should call Shogo over. His abilities would come in useful. But then Akashi was reluctant to depend too much on Shogo. The situation was too delicate. The risk of was too high to depend on someone as unreliable, and volatile, as Shogo. As always, Akashi would have to only depend on himself.

He held the referee’s accusing gaze, strongly. “I realize that having a team perform this well is rare in your experience, but assure you that none of us have done so.” He schooled his tones into the calm, confident tones of someone who had dealt with adults who underestimated him all his life. “Teikou has very punishing standards on such behaviour.”

The referee nodded, but Akashi could still feel the faint traces of suspicion in his thoughts. “I’ll believe you, because it’s Teikou, and you guys have the reputation. But I’ll be watching closely.”

“What did he say, Akashichii?” Kise got into his face the moment Akashi walked back. Akashi shoved a hand in Ryouta’s face irritably, pushing him away. Midorima actually gasped — it was definitely not like Akashi to do use physical force so casually. He must be more stressed than he seemed.

“Ryouta, no more mimicking. Atsushi, no stretching. Shogo, you’re back on the bench. Tetsuya, you’re back on the lineup, but no invisibility. Shintarou, proceed as usual. Expect more cautious passes from me,” all in clipped tones. Akashi was not looking at any of them, and his eyes were narrowed as he gazed at the timer.

Akashi suddenly felt himself thrown backwards, hard. He did not feel the fist connect with his face until he felt the pain. In his distracted state, Akashi had not realized when Haizaki lunged at him.

He heard shouting, dimly, and frantic thoughts, from everywhere. You’ve used me for the last time, you bastard!!... and ...Shit... and ...What the hell is going on?!! Then someone wrenched Haizaki away, and he could finally breathe.

“Both of you are banned from the rest of the tournament! No fighting allowed! You’re lucky I’m not disqualifying Teikou from the tournament for such behaviour,” the referee shouted. Akashi blinked, and a stinging pain throbbed. He tentatively touched his face, and saw blood on his fingertips.

He then only realized Tetsuya next to him, and Shintarou holding his arm, supporting him. Ryouta and Atsushi combined were holding Shogo back. Haizaki wrenched himself away from their grip, and glared at Akashi.

“Win on your own, bastard. I quit.” He stormed off.

The ensuing silence was broken by Kise’s fearful “What are we going to do, Akashichii?” in hushed tones.

Akashi heard him as though from a great distance. Everything was slipping away, fast.

He didn’t know what to do.

***

“Kamizaki Middle School’s win. Teams, please thank each other for the game,” the announcement rang out, but Akashi only dimly heard it as he stared at his shoes, on the bench. His eye still throbbed, and he could still taste the bitter metal of blood in his mouth, but he didn’t care.

Teikou had lost. After barely hanging onto their lead in the elimination rounds, Teikou had advanced to the first round of the playoffs. But they had lost. It had been the earliest round of loss in Teikou’s history. With the still absent Aomine, they were severely lacking in offensive power. Without Akashi’s sure leadership, all Teikou had was haphazard, uncoordinated playing.

With the subdued Kise and Murasakibara, and Kuroko’s play emotionally affected, Teikou’s starting lineup was steadily cut down by their opponents’ renewed tenacity and mercilessness. Nijimura and Midorima had tried their best, but there was nothing two players could do when the other teams pounced on Teikou’s newly weakened position ruthlessly, like predators scenting a wounded prey.

Akashi heard, but ignored, Midorima’s call to him as he stood, and walked out of the tournament court. He watched every footstep in front of him, dazed. Before he knew it, he was blinking, as he registered the blazing sunlight on his face. Somehow, he had walked right out of the stadium.

It was an odd feeling, losing. Even though Akashi had felt it before, with Rakuzan, it did not feel the same, this time. And it wasn’t because it was a different time, a different opponent, a different team. It was still a loss. An even more humiliating one, because Akashi had failed for the second time.

Akashi jerked out of his thoughts as he saw Daiki, sprawled out on the steps. A magazine lay open over his face as he lazed.

Akashi felt hot, searing rage prick through his dazed state. Daiki had been the one who started his downfall. Daiki had defied him. Despite all Akashi’s efforts, it had been Daiki who had ruined everything, yet again.

Akashi walked over to Aomine, and wrenched the magazine from his face. Aomine blinked at the sudden brightness.

“What the hell?” he sat up, and looked at Akashi. “Is the match over already?”

Akashi crushed the magazine in his fist. It crumpled, easily. “The entire tournament is over, for Teikou. We lost.” He watched as Daiki’s face registered surprise, then shock. Then finally, resigned nonchalance.

“So? What’s the big deal?” he lay back. “Maybe now you’ll lay off.”

Cold fury sharpened Akashi’s words as he levelled a gaze at Aomine. “We lost because of you, Daiki. Forget playing your precious basketball ever again.” Akashi would make sure of it. That Daiki never played it again.

Aomine bounded up, and glared down at Akashi. “You know what? Thanks to you, I don’t even care.” He clenched his hands, trembling all over. “You ruined basketball for me. What you did to me, you made what I played not basketball, anymore,” he spat the words out, bitterness in every line of his body language.

“You can keep your basketball. I’m done,” Aomine stomped off.

Akashi was still shaking in anger as he glared after him. His teammates, every one of them, deserved punishment. Akashi would make sure of it. Akashi would teach them a lesson. He would —

Then, abruptly as the anger had flared from the confrontation with Daiki, it extinguished, as though Akashi had been drenched in cold water. He suddenly felt drained, empty. The fog of daze was wrapping around his mind again, as Akashi remembered.

He had lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would be much appreciated! =)


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